14 Days
by KMSaum
Summary: Fourteen days was all it took from the first of the whispers of a strange disease to escalate to full-blown Hell on Earth. Most of the populace degraded to unthinking, unfeeling monsters....except for four.
1. Prologue

Hello! You know the disclaimer...I don't own L4D or any facet thereof....just the plot and the OCs.

This starts out with Zoey but will focus more on Francis and Bill as it progresses. I don't have much done just yet and I'll probably wait to see if there's any interest in the story. PLEASE R&R if you read!

PS--No pairings that I know of, rated for language.

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**Prologue**

Fourteen days.

Fourteen days was all it took from the first of the whispers of a strange disease to escalate to a full-blown Hell on Earth scenario. Chaos and fear were the only true government left; lawlessness reigned, as most of the populace now lived only by the laws of gravity and ripping apart anything too slow to run away.

This was true of everyone in the metropolitan area, every shuffling demon that had been a thinking, feeling human being just a scant handful of days before.

This was true of everyone….except for four.

The twelfth day was day the true enormity of the situation became clear. The day the Infection exploded through the population and the Infected took over the city, rending through everything and every_one_ that was in their way. The four met on the twelfth day, becoming what would eventually be the only group of Survivors from their area.

Their tale begins the eve of the night before.


	2. Chap 1: 11th day, Zoey

I know it's short, it's just a start...please let me know what you think!

PLEASE R&R!

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_**The Eleventh Day – The day the flicks shifted from 'fantasy horror' to 'horrible reality'**_

_**-Zoey-**_

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The dorm room was dark when Chelsea opened the door, though it was 4:30 in the afternoon. The curtains were drawn against the light the overcast afternoon sky would have offered—any glare was too much for her roommate, she knew. Said roommate was perched on their black futon, half-eaten bag of popcorn in her hands and her eyes fixed pointedly on the television in front of her. Chelsea couldn't see what was on the screen, but still did not need to ask.

"Another B-horror movie? Where do you keep _finding_ those awful things? I'm surprised you could find one you haven't seen yet." Zoey shook her head, not bothering to look up from her film.

"Unh-uh," she paused, allowing a bloodcurdling scream (albeit a quiet one—the volume wasn't too loud) to interrupt her. "Cabin in the middle of nowhere…I know how this one ends. "Evil Dead." Classic."

"Didn't you have a class at four?" the brunette glanced at her watch and grimaced; Chelsea laughed. "Thought so. You're going to flunk out if you don't start _going_ to class."

"Yeah, I know. I guess I could use the voluntary quarantine as an excuse, huh?" Her roommate gave her an uncomfortable look; Zoey caught it, finally peeling her eyes from the familiar bloodbath playing out on the screen. "What's up?"

"Things are…funny," Chelsea muttered, straightening her books on her desk. "There were only, like, five people in my class."

"And you yelled at me for not going?" Zoey demanded indignantly; her roomie waved her hand off, ignoring her interjection.

"The line for the health center was lined up out onto the road, too—they're diverting some of the cases to Mercy Hospital. People are saying that the military's even getting involved, though I didn't hang around to watch the news about it."

"I heard people saying the heart of the city is a mess, and that it gets worse the further in you go," Zoey said thoughtfully. "Come to think, the dorm's been _reeeeeeally _quiet today."

"Yeah, well, it's not quiet in the places that the army's showing up. I heard something about CEDA too…" Her roommate shrugged.

"Guess if it gets worse we'll know, huh?"

"I hope so…" Chelsea muttered. "I'm starting to think I should head home, but…"

"The streets and major transport hubs are always the first places to take a shit," Zoey said wisely. "When people start going bonkers from whatever's going on, on the highways stuck is the _last_ place you want to be."

The other girl stared at her, eyes wide; Zoey held her straight face for another breath before breaking down into giggles. She toppled over onto their couch as a well-aimed pillow caught her in the side of the face.

"Don't joke about stuff like that!" the other girl cried, a little too loudly. "You don't how weird it seems outside…"

"That's why I stayed _in,_" Zoey informed her, a small grin on her face. "The ones out roaming are always the first to bite it."

"Stop kidding around! This is serious!"

"…yeah, I know, but it's just a flu. People freaked out about H1N1 last year and all it made you do was cough a bunch." She wiggled her fingers menacingly at her roommate, making creepy ghost noises. "Ooooooooh, watch out for the piggy flu!" Chelsea didn't look convinced, stroking a loose strand of her blonde hair in obvious discomfort. "Seriously Chels, this'll all blow over in a couple of days. It's not like the world is ending."

"If you say so….I guess you'd know with all those crappy movies you watch."

"Classics," Zoey argued, eyes already glued back to the gorefest on the screen.

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Heh, small amount of irony there. I know it's a little dippy now, and I apologize. I'm really wanting to explore the relationship between Francis and Bill and will focus on that. Sorry I suck at the not-gorey stuff :P

-K


	3. Chap 2: 11th evening, Francis

_**The Eleventh Evening – The night 'Dust to dust' took on a whole new meaning.**_

-Francis-

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"I feel like there are better ways we could be chillin' with the world ending," Tripp muttered, staring almost dejectedly down at his whiskey. His longish brown hair was tied in a horsetail at the back of his neck, lying in between the leather-clad shoulder blades and stopping halfway down his back. The air was thick with the smell of leather exuding from he and his colleagues, though between two pairs of pants, a set of chaps (that Tripp was damn proud of, thank-you-very-much), and one very special vest, the odor wasn't surprising, though nor was it entirely unpleasant. The man on Tripp's right smiled a little, watching the old television mounted above the left corner of the bar, but didn't respond past that. "You know?" he prodded, knowing he was being ignored by both of his colleagues as well as the bartender. "Hit the highways for a poker run, _some_thing." The distant sounds of people milling about were just barely audible through the thickness of the old Winchester's walls. These, too went apparently unheeded.

"Highways are boned," the third of the group grumbled, folding tattooed arms over a broad chest. He rubbed a hand subconsciously over his shaved head, irritated. "Goddamn military is all over the fucking place like it's a damn warzone."

"…have a little respect, Francis," the man beside Tripp said quietly, storm-colored eyes not moving from the screen. Francis raised an eyebrow at his fellow biker, glancing down the bar as Leon—the third of their group—nodded his head at the grey-haired man seated at the end of it. The older male was dressed in fatigues and watching the television screen just like Leon and the bartender, forehead creased in what appeared to be deep thought. The glimmer of the silver dog tags around his neck was just visible in the dim light that permeated from behind the bottles of alcohol opposite them on the bar.

"I hate the military," Francis grumbled, though per his friend's request (God only knew why) he kept his voice low when he said it. Leon nodded slightly in approval. He was a serious one but the other bikers respected that, taking his usual long silences for what they were: just another part of the flavor the Legion provided. Some might have called them mismatched: Francis was the most vocal of the group, as well as the most forward. Leon was quiet and focused while Tripp was just that, a trip down the highway to Hell kicking and screaming and damn near wasted every minute his ass was on his bike and his bike on the road. The longneck in his hand was empty and he beckoned to Al, the wizened bartender, for another.

On the television, warnings and CEDA advisories were trailing in bright letters across the bottom of pictures detailing an overwhelmed hospital in the center of the city. Even the newscaster was clearly stopping every few words to cover a cough with the back of her manicured hand. The people in the pictures and video looked far less composed than she; the deeper into the city the news clips went, the more crowded and chaotic the scene became. Francis's pronouncement about the highways seemed to be true of most of the streets out of the city, as well as many of those within it. Barbed wire fences blocking off entire streets and flanked by armed military personnel were even visible in a few of the shots.

"Whole place is going to Hell in a hand basket," Al murmured mournfully. "Haven't seen riots this bad in years."

"Those aren't rioters," the man in the fatigues said, eyes hard.

"Then what the Hell do you call it, old man?" Francis asked. Leon frowned a little; the veteran scowled.

"I call it panic. Chaotic like a riot yes, but not all those people are running away." He pointed at the screen, across which a short clip of a crowd was playing. "The news won't talk about it but the sickness is doing something to people. Something bad." Francis scoffed and muttered something under his breath, though he did watch the scene on the TV a little more closely. True to the war vet's word he could pick out people in the background that seemed to be running down those around them, punching and clawing and kicking like madmen. The soldiers appeared to try and maintain order but there were more of the attacking than they could control. The news station cut away for a commercial break.

"It's a bunch of bullshit any way you slice it," Francis proffered, "…but we might be able to get something out of it." Tripp perked up instantly, finishing his whiskey in one long gulp.

"You think, Francis?" Tripp was the minority sidekick to Francis's mainstream superhero, if the superhero routinely started bar fights and punched other breathing things when they looked at him funny. The taller man snorted at the question.

"Hell yeah I do. We can definitely find something to keep us…" he glanced at the scowl on the old man's face down the bar and rephrased, "…entertained. You coming with, Leon?" The dark haired biker closed his eyes, not responding for a long moment.

"…I think I'll pass." Tripp's face fell a bit at that; Francis just shrugged, not surprised. Leon was a good friend of his, close as brother and had been for years on the road. The difference between them was that while Tripp and Francis had joined the Legion for camaraderie and to start shit, Leon used riding his bike mainly to get away, though from what Francis didn't know. About the only thing he _knew_ about Leon was that the man took meticulous care of his motorcycle and was a damn good guy to have watching your back when the shit hit the fan. Beyond that, he had no idea why the hell the guy hung around when he didn't say word one most of the time.

Tripp…Tripp was different. The man was a solid guy but a little thicker than most between the ears. His intentions were good, or rather, his intentions went along with everything Francis told him, which worked out OK for everyone involved…well, everyone involved on the bikers' side, that is.

Francis stood, slapping his hands to the wooden bar. His excitement was palpable and catching, at least to Tripp. The latter stood up so fast he nearly brained himself when his foot caught in the barstool's leg and he toppled. The old man down the bar snickered; Leon shook his head; Francis snorted a laugh and offered a hand to haul the smaller man to his feet.

"You gonna be open for awhile Al?" The bartender nodded.

"Not going let some flu stop the thirsty. Though," as he glanced at the television, deep lines furrowed his forehead, "I may lock the door if the crazies filter down towards this end of town. Just give a knock if you can't get in and I'll see to it that you do." Francis gave Al a grin, clapped Leon once on the shoulder, and headed for the door.

"We'll catch ya on the flip side then. Ashes to ashes, Leon."

"Dust to dust," the other man replied quietly. "If it weren't for the Legion…"

"The highways would rust," Tripp finished.

If either of them noticed the veteran's scowl deepening they ignored it as the door to the Winchester thumped closed behind them.

"Let's hoof it for now," Francis instructed and Tripp, ever the eager one, nodded vigorously. "We'll see what entertainment we can scare up."

Unbeknownst to the biker it was the 'scare' in his words that would hold the most gravity on how his night—and his life—would progress from that point. But at that point he didn't give half a damn, relishing instead the cool air and the tingling of an evening's first adrenaline.

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_**Still plodding along, sorry for the wait! Thanks to everyone who favorited/added me to their update list!!! PLEASE R&R**_

_**A/N: There is a blatant homage to 'Shaun of the Dead' in this chap a la the bar being named the "Winchester." A minor point but giving credit where it's due :) Also, Al and Leon, while not in L4D, are based on likenesses from Batman and Kingdom Hearts respectively. **_

_**-K-**_


End file.
